


Level Of Concern

by peterpuppieparker



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton Recovering, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Clint Barton, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpuppieparker/pseuds/peterpuppieparker
Summary: Clint Francis  Barton was completely and utterly confused. They--as in the evil triplets of Fury, Hill, and a slightly remorseful Steve--had dragged him out of bed at ass o’clock in the morning, down an unsettling hallway full of functional morning people all dressed in black and white. He’d tried to crack a joke, but…..he was with Fury, Hill, and an remorseful American man. God he’d really need better nicknames. Clint watched a bird smack into the window and acknowledged that he’d counted the amount of steps he took from his goblin cave of a room to get here: 1,276."If I showed you my Level Of Concern would you walk by like you never heard?" And honestly, Clint nor Bucky new the answer to that anymore.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Kate Bishop, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop & Lucky, Clint Barton & Lucky, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Kate Bishop & Lucky
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Ghost Of Mariano's

**Author's Note:**

> This has been on my mind ever since I scribbled some headcanons on a piece of line paper after online school which I've since lost. Additionally with the recent release of Twenty One Pilot's's Level Of Concern, my alt. emo ass just couldn't help myself. So here we go finally after writers block. Not beta'd because I have no writer friends and I like to live on the edge.

Clint Francis Barton was completely and utterly confused. They--as in the evil triplets of Fury, Hill, and a slightly remorseful Steve--had dragged him out of bed at ass o’clock in the morning, down an unsettling hallway full of functional morning people all dressed in black and white. He’d tried to crack a joke, but…..he was with Fury, Hill, and a remorseful American man. God he’d really need better nicknames. Clint watched a bird smack into the window and acknowledged that he’d counted the amount of steps he took from his goblin cave of a room to get here: 1,276. He blinked his eyes blearily and zeroed at the bird still smacking itself into the window. Clint acknowledged the garbled fuzzy watery feeling and acknowledged the fact that he should probably turn his aids on. He left a shaky hand covered in bandaids--no he didn’t break another mirror last night--and flicked them on. 

“Listen to me here Steven…” Well, fuck him five ways to Sunday, Hill sounded mad. “Barnes unfit to be living in his own Quarters. And frankly you’re too much of a mother-hen to deal with him.” Why was he even here again? He didn’t like where this was going. Bucky had been wiggling his racoon makeup KGB man bun into him and Nat’s movie nights lately. He squashed the little peep of common sense in his head stating the obvious. 

“We’ve gotta come up with some other solution. Pair ‘em up with someone. A buddy if you will.” Fury Grunted. Clint wondered how many eyepatches he’d have to get and replace. He’d been tapping his nails on the table, and his finger was bleeding. Guess that’s what happens with you mix extreme nail biting and vigorous tapping. Clint needed coffee.

“Bucky’s in need for a change of scenery as is Clint. And due to the fact that our resident dumpster dweller…” Fuck you too, Eyepatch, he thought. “A buddy system is in order..” God. Did that mean him? Was he the buddy? He snorted at the thought. God it was so early. And ridiculous and cliche. What next walking in on Bucky changing or having an agreement to not fall in love. And that’s when Clinto Barton got a memory-driven eyeful of Bucky's abs. 

“They can rent an apartment in Brooklyn. My decision is final Steven.” Nasty woman, aka Maria, aka Maria Hill, aka agent Hill--aka the woman he could get away with mentally sassing only because he didn’t work for her anymore--ended her conversation in her signature clipped, blunt tone. 

He’d turned off his aids too quickly to catch Steve's grunt, and muttered curses once she left. He should really go before Steve starts punching things. Well, that’s his therapist talking in his head honestly. Apparently he had triggers? And then he realizes no normal person thinks this much. And because Clint was Clint and he was Clint he spent fifteen minutes and thirty two point five seconds (yes some weird even more PTSD-y part of his brain was counting) staring at the table and thinking about shelter dogs and if they also had mental health issues. Eventually, eventually--even without Natasha giving him a friendly ass slap and a shot of alcohol--he looked up from the table. And wouldn’t you know it, Robot arm clad raccoon make up KGB was chilling there.  
~  
Bucky was...well feeling empty. But with a tinge of anger? He didn’t know. He felt catatonic--Mandy told him that word. He fucking hated Mandy. 

He stood silently in the shadowy corner of the conference room. Being a programmed robotic assassin for seventy years did have some perks. Stevie had- left in such an angry huff that he left him behind. And he felt kind of good about it? He mentally shook his head. Too much thinking. too many feelings. B watched the bird guy, Hawkeye...Clint his? He didn’t think about it too much. All he knew was that Fury, Hill, and probably Steve had been spying on him. His metal plated hand clenched into a fist automatically. More feelings?. They knew about his movie nights with the Widow--she’d insisted he Call her Natasha, yet another thing on his “things to work on list”-- and Hawkeye...Clint? Either way they thought it was cool to be all hand-wavey and pair both mentally unstable ex-assassins together. Bucky read his apparent new “buddies” file. Bucky knew Clint got nightmares just like him. And some sick part of him felt satisfied and somewhat relieved. He didn’t like that he knew and he didn't know if Clint knew. Wait...is that guy mumbling sadly to himself about dogs?


	2. I Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint thinks alot....again.  
> (And I used a lot of made up terms)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Due to Quarantine being rude and messing with me there's gonna be a lot more updates! Gotta use the good-kush-coping-mechanisms right? That was pitiful. Happy reading! (Not beta-ed because I still like to live on the edge.) 
> 
> tw; self-deprication

Clint, was honestly officially and totally screwed. Bucky had most likely heard him talking to himself sadly like the doofus he--Clint, himself, Hawkeye, etc--is. (but Bucky also qualified for that title….partially. In this situation specifically.) He surveyed the obviously tired and jaded, mixed with the resting-assasin-bitch-face he knew all too well from Natasha, look on Bucky’s face. “Well, I’m excited to be your roommate too oh winter-y one.” He grumbled. It was mostly too himself but Bucky….James….Winter Soldier--all Clint knew was that he was definitely not calling him The Asset-just had to hear him with his dumb OP super soldier hearing. Steve was bad about that too. No muttered curse words or subtle whispers got away from him.

All Bucky (yeah, he was Bucky for now) gave in return, was his normal done-with-your-shit-so-much-that-I-might-kill-You-And-Kick-Your-Dog bitchy face, along with an expected grunt and a raised eyebrow. Clint wondered if all Assassins were taught the ability to do that face. It was so creepily like the one Natasha gave him, it... well creeped him out. 

Fifteen minutes, 45 seconds, and 10 milliseconds of awkward silence, and watching many birds smack into the large windows later, Clint decided his officially hated Bucky. He couldn’t dwell on that though because Maria came in and told Clint to help Bucky pack up his shit because he was moving into his floor….before they got the apartment. Huh. Apartment. Clint thought fondly of Bedstuy for a moment before Hill told him to get his ass in gear. She “Had more important things to do.” If true--which it obviously was---why wasn’t she doing said important things?

Clint didn’t have time to dwell on this because he was (expectantly) rushed downstairs to help Bucky pack his shit. He looked over at his scruffy, murdery, now roommate. He looked like a hoarder all right. Clint just hoped the asshole didn’t have a lot of shit, or like a dead body. Yeah...whether or not you could get a dead body past security and even hide it from Steve of all people isn’t a good though process right now, he thought. Yes. Bucky is now a mega asshole. Ergo he was making Clint think even more rapidly, which made him twitch pick his torn up bloody nails and fingers even more. A large, overpowered, specially trained slash hydra brainwashed mega ultra asshole. Clint could hear his therapist's voice in his head, chiding about how he doesn’t actually feel that way was being a sarcastic asshole--even in his head--as a coping mechanism. Ew self-awareness. When’d he get that? 

As soon as they reached the room, now accompanied by a sad, quiet Steve, it turned out that Bucky was not a hoarder. He barely had anything in his quarters at all. The default Stark-given comforter put in all the rooms was on the floor, and all the frilly extra sheets were pushed in a ball in the corner, with only the fitted sheet left on the bed. He wrinkled his nose after realizing that his carney ass knew what a fitted sheet was. He couldn’t blame the guy honestly, the only thing clint had done different was dye it all purple and then dump fabric softener on it to get his weird dye violated bed sheets. 

The small amount of stuff Bucky had was honestly making him depressed though. It seemed as if the only stuff he had was either forced on him to keep by Steve or random cheap IKEA stuff he’d been forced to pick up. 

Clint held his tongue through the awkward silence, and helped Bucky carry his sad, depressing trinkets to his floor. Even thought it was completely unnecessary. “Because like uh..super soldier serum bitch-self.” He muttered underneath his breath.Bucky...James...Winter-kun?-‘There’s some nice mental barf. 'I gotta complain to Kate for making me watch anime later,’ he thought--as if it had wired to his super-hearing-ears, almost as if it had summoned him, gave him his normal murder eyes in response. Steve just sighed like the sad-golden-retriever-puppy-of-a-ninety-year-old-man he was. 

"Why am I helpin' you guys move his shit anyway?" He blurted. Bucky shrugged, and a weird, small part of Clint was proud of him for that. Steve on the other hand just said some Self-Rightoues-American-Man-Bull-Shit ™

“Think of it as a training drill. It’s just roommate training.” Bucky looked just about as unimpressed as Clint did with Steve’s bullshit. 

“Guess we’re gonna be bonding over being done with your shit,” He grumbled. Bucky just stared at him and then surprisingly…..laughed. 

~  
Tony just had to walk up not even 5 milliseconds later because he just couldn’t help himself.  
“Wow,” He sassed, wrapping an unwanted arm around Clint’s shoulders casually. “Didn’t know Mr. KGB over here could laugh. He could smell the expensive suit Tony was wearing. It was prada or something. About 35.2 seconds later of Tony staring at Steve expectantly--and partially eye-fucking him. Jesus fucking christ chill Tony--Steve just shrugged, the newly dubbed Mr.KGB just continued to glare at nothing in particular. Tony flipped Steve off and life. 

“He’s a dick.” Clint shrugged matter-of-a-factly. 

“Language!” 

A raised brow from Bucky. Clint was not excited to learn the ways of mute looks instead of talking for yet another assassin.  
~  
After what seemed like years of carrying stuff--that he really didn’t have to help carry--to his floor Clint felt accomplished. They moved Bucky and his sad amount of stuff into the ‘guest room,’ on Clint’s floor with practice precision. It’s not as they were a moving company either, this ‘precision,’ came from Steve’s annoying team drills.  
~  
Clint glared at the toilet woefully. He was checking his bathroom to see if it was up to standards. Yes, surprisingly enough, he did have some standards. Steve had moved Bucky’s shower supplies into his bathroom and he pitied them both too much to move it. 

Clint definitely did NOT move his shower stuff into the guest bathroom to avoid confrontation. Definitely not. He was glad that they finished moving Bucky in. Now he could go back to marathoning Dog Cops in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After editing this A03 can fight me! "murdery" is now a word and no one can tell me otherwise.  
> (Side Note; You can tell me that Steve wasn't Michael-In-The-Bathroom-ing it up from when Bucky died until he 'came back,' ~Everything was fine when I was have a pairrrr. Now through no fault of mine there's no other half there.~)

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have rated Lucky over Captain America on a rating chart.


End file.
